The Day I Forgot My Own Name

Note to the Author: Anyone who has ever felt physically or spiritually lost in their own life will relate to this story. It's about finding something beautiful to hold onto despite losing everything that defines you. The alarm rang, but I didn’t move.

Once upon a time, the sound had a meaning: another day, another chance, and another list of things to do. However, that morning, it was just noise echoing throughout the room, serving as a reminder that time moved even though I was not there. I slowly got up. My clothes were hanging from the back of a chair, papers were all over the desk, and the bed had a half-full mug of cold coffee. Despite the fact that everything appeared normal, it felt wrong. I went to the mirror and stared at my reflection. The face that was looking back at me no longer felt like mine. The tired eyes, the unkempt chin, and the tiniest crease in between the brows all gave the impression of being distantly familiar, as if a stranger had borrowed my body. I made an effort to say my name aloud. merely a brief reminder of who I used to be. However, the word remained in my throat. I had a momentary memory lapse. not only my name, but also my identity. The realization struck like ice. When you live the same life every day, how do you completely lose yourself? Even though I had a house, a job, and a routine, none of it felt real any more. As a result, I took the only action I could think of. I left my residence. Already, cars were speeding, horns were blaring, and people were purposefully walking the streets. It appeared as though everyone knew where they were going. Except for me, everyone Bakeries, flower shops, and schoolyards filled with laughter passed by as I lost my way. Normally, the scents of bread and rain in the air soothed me, but today they only intensified the emptyness. I stopped as I came by a small park. A group of pigeons were being fed crumbs by an elderly man who was sitting on a bench. “You look like you forgot something,” he said, looking up with a slight smile. I nearly laughed. I said quietly, "Yeah." “Myself.”

He nodded as if he had already heard it. He stated, "That occurs." "Sometime soon, to everyone." I sat next to him. We did not speak much. Just silence and birds, and the sound of the city behind us. After a while, he said, “The world moves too fast. You might just fall off for a while at times. But that doesn't mean you can't get back on. I wanted to have faith in him. The time passed. I found myself walking in the direction of the old part of town, where my mother and I used to go as kids. The bakery there was her favorite. The owner would always give me a free piece of bread “for the little dreamer,” he’d say.

The bakery was still there, though smaller now, and with a new sign. I went within. I was immediately overwhelmed by the soft, reassuring, and comforting aroma of bread. Behind the counter stood a young woman with flour on her cheek. "Can I get you something?" She inquired. I admitted, "I... I don't know." "I haven't been here in a long time." She grinned. Then there has to be a favorite. Does everyone else? I gave it some thought. I muttered, "The honey roll," quietly. "I used to get that from my mom." After giving a nod, she turned around and put one in a small paper bag. She told me, "On the house," as she handed it to me. for the child who dreams big." My heart slowed down. That phrase was unheard of. I looked at her, stunned. She did not say anything special, just smiled softly. However, as I left the shop, something in my chest loosened, so I paid anyway. I felt... seen for the first time in months. I tore off a portion of the roll while sitting on a bench nearby. My eyes suddenly became blurred as the sweetness melted in my mouth. The memory was more important than the taste. the sensation of security and belonging in some place. I also recalled my name in that quiet moment. not only the sound itself, but also everything it represented, including joy, sorrow, love, and loss. After a long winter, it came back to me like sunlight did. When I finally got home that evening, I cleaned my room. I opened the window to let in some fresh air, stacked the papers neatly, and threw away the cold coffee. The world hadn’t changed.

But maybe I did, just enough to change my perspective. I came to the realization that self-loss is not the end. It’s the pause before a new beginning. A stranger's kindness or a forgotten smell can sometimes help you remember who you are. That night, I looked in the mirror again.

Same drowsy eyes. Same person. But this time, when I whispered my name, it didn’t feel strange. It felt like coming home.